


For The First Time

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dalton!Blaine masturbates thinking of Kurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For The First Time

It's the last thing he intends to do that afternoon when he gets home.

Contrary to his age he's actually quite reserved about it--he indulges at a healthy rate but when and how he chooses, not simply when his body insists (which is at least three or four times a day, if he's being honest). He keeps his noise in check and doesn't allow it to go on for too long. A steady, focused rhythm and a tissue in his right hand and it's over in usually no more than five minutes, ten if he's feeling adventurous.

But it's hot. It's hot and Kurt is coming over soon to work on his solo audition piece and there just isn't time, though Blaine has been twitching and half-swollen all day.

He shrugs off his jacket when he gets up to his room, loosens his tie as he toes off his shoes and socks. He slides off his belt and pops the top two buttons on his shirt, then flops across cool sheets with a relieved sigh.

The central air is a blessing, and the fan he has going right across from his bed even better. He breathes out, letting the cool air wash the heat from his skin, one arm flung above his head and the other on his stomach, scratching a circle over his belly as his heat-addled thoughts sprawl and disconnect.

Comfortable not long after, he doesn't even give a second thought to allowing a hand down over himself, doesn't think of anything much at all as he strokes his cock straight against his zipper, folding his fingers around the shape of it as he hardens in his pants.

It feels so good, the stiffening of his cock against the friction provided by the rough layers of cloth. Being warm and stuffy is not so bad when it's just down there. His body is just fine with that. He hardly even needs to think of anyone or anything in particular; the usual stock fantasy of kissing and rubbing up against another boy, of maybe reaching down to feel him hard and wanting, of listening to his breathing speed up and his moans as Blaine touches him--it's more than enough.

Somewhere in between stock fantasy three and four the image of Kurt floats through his mind. He's not even sure what inspires it. True, they'd spent a lot of time together today. He can recall several times when he'd touched Kurt's shoulder, or knee, or knocked their bodies together in greeting, or got a little too distracted by the spread of Kurt's generous smile one too many times.

God, Kurt has the most amazingly beautiful smile.

Blaine squeezes harder, pulse tripping faster as he decides to go for it, and in no time at all he has his zipper lowered and he's fishing himself out of his boxer briefs, hissing as the breeze from the fan hits the damp spot at the head. It sends a wave of goosebumps down his thighs and he spreads them in response, tugging himself straight as his hips settle.

He's so hard.

He can feel the sweat rings at the underarms of his white dress shirt and he reaches up with his free hand, hurriedly undoing several more buttons and untangling the tie from his collar so that it hangs around his neck and he can shrug the shirt down and off his shoulders, pushing it at least as far as his elbows.

He can't wait any longer than that. With a frustrated whine he leans up on his elbow, tugging at himself faster, pausing only to spit in his palm once just to take the edge off.

Kurt's long, lean body in the Dalton uniform. His hands--capable and gorgeous and so strong the few times that Blaine has had cause to feel them. The plump swell of his bottom lip. The taper of his long neck into his collarbone. The way that his body manages to just stand out, even in uniform. The little surprised face he makes when Blaine comes near, the way that he blushes and his breath hitches and his eyes go mossy green with pleasure.

He's stunning. Blaine shouldn't be thinking about him, not like this. He shouldn't--he shouldn't--

Gasping, he fumbles for a tissue. 

He's already so close and he hasn't even--

Thought of Kurt's lips against his, or what it might feel like to have those hands hungrily cradling his lower back while they kiss. What it might feel like to taste that sweet, teasing mouth full of a wet tongue that does playful, wicked things to his. Those shoulders under his hands, the permission to touch Kurt's slender waist, hips, thighs--god.

God, god--

He tries to slow down, to back off, but he can feel the pressure rising at the base of his cock, and it's so fast, it's so good, it's almost never like this and--

He's so excited that he's slick already, the tip of his cock leaking all over his fingers and the front of his pants, where several smears have made the material go dark. He discovers a splotch on his thigh where he'd been rubbing himself through his pants earlier.

Damn. Damn.

He tilts his head back, spreading his legs wider and craning up on his elbows, feeling the blush creep down his ears and the back of his neck, feeling springs of curls pop free of the gel in his hair and fall down over his sweaty forehead and into his eyes. 

The angle is uncomfortable but the friction is perfect, his hips churning as he fucks the channel of his fist with abandon. 

He struggles to get the tissue in the right spot, knees bent, the muscle in his forearm ticking as he strokes.

He thinks about making out with Kurt, as embarrassing as it feels, as guilty as he feels ever since Valentine's Day and what Kurt had confessed to him, thinks about Kurt pinning him against a hard surface and cupping his face and moving against him, their thighs spreading so that their hips can slot just right, their cocks hard and grinding together.

He thinks about what Kurt would look like aroused and close up, face prickled with a flush, mouth open, eyes wide and wet, and god, what if Kurt is noisy, what if he groans and whimpers and asks for harder, or more, or right there, please, Blaine, don't stop--

Faster, and faster still, until all there is is the wet noise of his hand around his cock and the desperate whining trip of his breathing and he can't, he just can't, the thought of Kurt coming in his hand, the thought of Kurt coming for him is too much.

He fumbles the tissue over the head of his cock as his wrist twists, falling half onto his side as the orgasm rips down his body and his heart pounds beneath his jaw.

He gasps " _Kurt_!" as he comes, soaking the tissue with strand after strand of jerky release.

It's heaven to just slump down into the comfort of his own bed after, to let his heart chase its own beat back to normalcy as the air-conditioning does its work. 

He balls up his soiled tissue and tosses it into the garbage pail next to his bed.

No part of him wants to move but he's risked enough jerking off with his bedroom door unlocked, so he takes off his sweaty shirt and soiled pants and mangled tie and is just finished changing into a clean pair of shorts and a t-shirt when someone knocks on his door.

"Come in," he shouts, thinking that it's his mother with a question about his day or maybe a cold drink.

It's Kurt, and he's about twenty minutes early.

Blaine freezes. 

"You called?" Kurt asks, face alarmingly red.


End file.
